Call of Duty: Modern Warfare: The Novelisation
by captain Mactavish
Summary: Hi there, this is my first story; a novelisation of Call of Duty 4: modern warfare. I hope you enjoy it
1. Prologue: Good news first

Modern warfare: The Novelisation

Prologue: "Good news first"

Gaz waited at the table. he had already been there for five minutes, nonetheless, his patience was a healthy product of twelve years of S.A.S training and action, and he wasn't going to be swayed by five minutes of sitting at a table doing nothing. He checked his watch; he was still two minutes early. he went over to the opposite desk and unplugged his laptop, bringing it to the table, opening it and turning it on.

As it started up he heard heavy footsteps in the corridor that his fine-tuned senses would recognise any day. Gaz stood up as the door opened, and a tall, athletic man walked in. "Afternoon sir." said Gaz, saluting the man. Captain price went straight into business: "Talk to me." He commanded, resting his hands on the desk. Gaz naturally did as he was told; he tapped his password into the laptop, and turned it lengthways with the table so they both could see. "Good news first" he began," the world's in great shape".

He clicked on an icon and a satellite image of the world appeared, surrounded by computer readouts and the like. he hovered the mouse over Russia and double clicked; a video player popped up, which he ordered to play. "We got a civil war in Russia: government loyalists against ultranationalist rebels, and 15000 nukes at stake." the clip showed a video feed of a small squad of men wielding MP5s, which they recognised to be the Russian spetsnaz guard, fighting of a much larger group of rugged looking soldiers with RPG's and AK-47s. The "good Russians", seemed to be on the losing side. "Just another day at the office." captain price smirked. Gaz zoomed to another part of the map, he tapped on a small country nestled just below Saudi Arabia. an image of a bearded man wearing a desert army uniform and a red beret appeared. one's first reaction would be to call him a terrorist. These guys, however, knew better than that. "Khaled Al-Asad" Gaz continued, "currently the second most powerful man in the Middle-East. Now word on the street is he's got the minerals to be the top dog down there. Intel's keeping an eye on him. " Gaz closed the image. "U-huh" said Captain price, in an amusingly casual way. He paused to scratch his beard.

"and the Bad news?"

"the bad news is we got a new Guy joining us today. Fresh outta selection. His name's Soap."


	2. Chapter 1: The FNG

Hi there this is my first story, so I hope it goes well. This is an updated version of the first chapter as it was originally published, I've attempted to fix a few problems and added a few new bits. I hope you liked the preview chapter/prologue, and I hope you like the first one. So after you've read this send some reviews and let me know what you think. enjoy!

Modern warfare: The Novelisation

Chapter 1: the F.N.G

Private Mactavish felt like a walking corpse. His every limb was in agony, he was out of his mind with fatigue, and his head made him feel like he had had like the hangover from hell. & Just to put the cherry on the cake, Selection had given him the shittiest, most humiliating codename in the history of special forces: Soap. _"what the fuck?"_ he thought to himself. At least they had the decency to allow him the luxury of his own surname.

Soap was fresh from Special Air Service selection, and he was amazed, annoyed, shocked, proud, impressed, surprised, and nervous all at the same time; he was 5th out of eight recruits who had braved and survived the grim and gruelling SAS selection process. Said eight were the last survivors of and approximated 120 military servicemen, who had been daring and brave enough -not to mention damn _crazy- _to attempt SAS selection. Soap had been through Hell and back to get this job, and so far he was having a _great time!_

Soap had now been flown in to the 22nd SAS regiment's HQ in Credenhill, just outside Hereford. He'd been given about 3-4 hours sleep before being woken at midnight to get a post-selection assessment. now, after a, hour's rest and a breakfast that was putrid -to say the least- he was going to meet his fellow squaddies and his CO, Captain Price. He was sure they'd be _lovely people._

However the worst was yet to come; he had just been informed that on his first evening in the 22nd SAS regiment, he had been moved into a squad in the counter-terrorist wing of the SAS and was to be sent on a top secret, Highly dangerous mission to the bearing straits. What the whole thing was all about was classified, something to do with a cargoship? however all would be revealed soon enough.

he looked at the piece of paper telling him were to go. _"hangar 3" _it read, the writing just legible. He scanned his environment carefully, he then slapped himself for not using his common sense nor being very observant for someone who had just been accepted into the world's most elite special forces regiment; there _were _only three hangars, and they all had their numbers written on them right at the top, in big, bold, black for the world for the world to see. he headed to number three.

He wandered through the open door of the hangar, unsure what to expect. to his surprise there was almost no one there. just a long alleyway with several open cubicles that he recognised as the firing range, and an armoury with a man in an armour vest sitting at the front desk reading a magazine about guns, surrounded by a countless variety of different firearms hanging from the walls around him. Soap wondered if he had the right piece of paper.

He was about to walk over to the man at the desk, when he felt two heavy thuds on his left shoulder that most would recognise as the queue to provoke a fight , and that _he_ would recognise as the standard military _"hey you" _tap on the shoulder. "Hey you!" said a deep voice, coincidently. Soap turned to face a short-ish stocky man wearing a cap, Kevlar vest and military uniform. "You're Mactavish right?" the man asked. "Yeah that's me." He replied. "Good to see ya' mate. Name's Gaz, I'm Captain Price's second-in-command." Soap was taken aback by the way the man was so friendly for a superior officer, maybe this wouldn't be _quite_ as bad as Soap had thought.

"Uh, cool." he said. He was still disorientated from tiredness, and couldn't think of much else to say. "Now, captain price wanted me to check on your marksmanship skills. Take one of the rifles from the armoury."

_"when will the torturous training end, if ever?"_

despite the customary pessimism felt by all new recruits -Soap clearly being no exception- his thirteen years spent in the Territorial Army and three in the Royal Marines told him that officers were not to be argued, or _reasoned _with, despite how friendly they may seem. He did as ordered. The gun he assumed he was meant for him was laid out on the table in front of the desk, he took it from its place, with no hint of acknowledgement from the guard. Soap recognised the weapon as a G36C, supposedly a pretty good gun, he'd used it once on a training mission to the rainforest somewhere in Africa during his time in the Royal Marines, but he tried not to remember that mission; he had been attacked by a huge water snake and almost drowned.

"You know the drill" Gaz continued. "Go to station 1 and aim your rifle down range." Soap obeyed. Gaz stood up on a platform behind the range. he pulled one of many small levers on a panel in front of him. A target popped down on the ceiling downrange in front of Soap. "Now I want you to shoot each target while aiming down the sights" Gaz instructed. Despite Soap's tiredness, he found the task easy. Disorientation would have no effect on these guys in the case of shooting at targets a matter of meters from one's face.

Soap quickly put a hole in each of the three targets that popped up. "lovely" Gaz commented. "Now shoot at the target's while aiming from the hip." "Aiming" wasn't really the right term, it was more spraying bullets in the target's general direction without using the sights. The targets that appeared now were larger than the others, but further away. And they had images of terrorists painted on them. soap quickly dispatched said "terrorists", the targets slapping back down with an affirmative beeping noise. "Now I'm gonna block the targets with a sheet of plywood," said Gaz, the wood coming up from the floor on queue. "I want you to shoot the targets through the wood" He instructed. Soap did the same as before, assuming it was the same targets as then since the wood came up right in front of them. "always remember, bullets will penetrate thin, weak materials, like wood, plaster and sheet metal." As you may have guessed, Soap was getting _just a_ _little_ _bit bored _by now. It wasn't like Soap didn't know all this already.

"now lastly, I'm gonna make the targets pop up one at a time."

_"thank God it's nearly over" _Soap thought.

"Hit all of them as fast as you can."

this was much like firing from the hip in that all he had to do was spray bullets in the target's general direction, although the sights _were_ used this time. In a matter of seconds, each target was peppered with a few bullet holes, and then Soap's torturously boring and "_I don't to do this, I'm in the fucking S.A.S, I'm not a cub scout completely new to the idea of holding a gun"_, time in the firing range was over, at least he thought. "_Proper good job mate!"_ remarked Gaz, with an enthusiasm that amused Soap. "Now go get a sidearm from the armoury."

_"NOOOOOOOOOO" _Yelled Soap's mind.

he didn't show his irritation, however. Soap took a USP 45 that had been laid out for him on the table. Almost immediately, Gaz carried on. "Now switch to your rifle." Although, as always, Soap was Completely unsure as to why this was happening, he obeyed yet again, slipping the pistol away and taking out his rifle. "Now pull out your sidearm." Soap undid his previous actions. "remember, switching to your pistol is always faster than reloading." Gaz advised.

_"why the bloody hell is he telling _me _this?" _soap wondered _"I've been in the armed forces for eighteen years!" _

"Alright Soap, come this way" Gaz said.

_"Is it over yet?" _His mind cried out for justice.

"Using your knife is even faster than switching to your pistol"

_"wow, after being in the army I really didn't know that." _Soap had to tell himself to calm down a little, He knew from taking a course once in military psychology that in an annoying situation, sarcasm was never a good sign, it often led to stress, which often led to fatal mistakes.

"Knife the watermelon." Gaz suddenly ordered, bringing soap out of his trance. "S-sorry. what was that?" Soap _had_ heard what Gaz had said, but the culture shock from his memory to the real world, combined with the random unexpectedness -or unexpected randomness- of the instruction, had stopped him really registering it. "you Heard me." snapped Gaz. Soap looked at the table beneath the platform, on it sat the watermelon. Soap felt no remorse in killing this albeit innocent piece of fruit, he never liked melons anyway. He took out his knife in the orthodox way; so that the blade itself was held inward and nestled against the inside of his wrist, this meant it was possible to perform almost any attack with the weapon.

He slashed out horizontally across the melon, leaving a deep but thin gash in its flesh, and a small lump of wet red stuff on the table. "Nice!" Gaz let out "Yer' fruit killing skills are remarkable!" the lack of firearm use had made Soap's hopes go up by now, fortunately he was not to be disappointed a second time. Gaz pointed over to the door, "that's enough for now Soap, Captain Price wants to see you. Hangar 1 now." he delivered the latter part of the sentence like a teacher telling a child they were in trouble with the Head. Soap stepped outside of the hangar and breathed the fresh air. _"Freedom!" _His mind cried out.

As Soap made his way to the hangar, he watched some men undergo a rigorous obstacle course he had been told would have been for him were it not for his role tonight in the Counter-terrorist wing. As Soap watched, he saw a man in full kit watching over them from a large wooden platform, guiding them around the course. he was small and nimble looking, and had an amusing grey moustache with white tips that reached down to the bottom of his jaw. Soap knew this man to be John Mcaleese. AKA "Mac". Mac was a famous ex-SAS veteran, who was widely regarded to be the "face" of special forces. He had been the point man on the balcony during the famous Iranian embassy siege of may 1980, caught on camera while the whole world was watching. rumours had been circulating of his visit for the day, to watch over some new recruits. next to him stood a stocky balding man whom soap recognised from a documentary called "SAS: _Are you tough enough?_" in which very fit members of the general public took part in a ten-day taster of SAS selection, and only four of twenty-six actually saw it through to the end. He had laughed at them exhausting themselves on mountains, and be shouted at in a tactical questioning mock-up. It was only when Soap underwent the real thing that he realised he had spoken too soon.

Soap cautiously entered hangar 1, unsure what was about to happen. As he entered, he came across four black clad figures standing in a circle as if engaged in conversation, and he suddenly became aware of four gasmasked faces staring at him as he entered. the Group was stood in front of a large wooden construct that had a raised area resembling the bridge of a ship. One of the figures removed his gasmask to reveal a man with an amusingly thick red moustache -much like Mac's, only red- looking at soap as if he were some kind of circus freak. He assumed this was Captain Price.

"It's the F.N.G sir." reported one of the figures.

"Go easy on him sir," said another "it's his first day in the regiment." Soap wasn't sure if the guy was taking the piss by patronizing him or felt genuine compassion for his new comrade. Soap bet on the former.

"Right. . . ?" said Captain Price, slowly. "What the hell kind of name is soap eh? How'd a Muppet like you pass selection?" he asked. Soap had been through eighteen years of mocking like this. It was nothing new. "they were in a good mood sir." he answered, for lack of anything better to say. "whatever. Now soap it's your turn for the C.Q.B test" the captain said, rapidly tuning the subject around "Everyone else, head to observation." he ordered, the men began to head over to a series of tables with TV's on them.

"For this test, you'll have to run the cargoship Solo in less than sixty seconds, Gaz holds the current Squadron record at 19 seconds. Good luck." Soap understood, the platform was for a simulation of tonight's mission; a close-quarter battle, or CQB test, using live ammo rounds against popup targets. He had been through similar tests before. at least this part of the training would be _interesting. _He headed over to a wooden scaffold at the front of the construct, he looked round for a ladder, which he found round the back. Climbing to the top he found a small area with several ammo crates littered around.

"Pick up that MP5 and 4 flashbangs." the captain shouted up to him.

Soap took out his rifle and swapped it for an MP5 rested on one of the crates, taking the flashbangs and slipping them onto his belt at the same time. "On my go I want you to rope down to the deck and rush to position 1" Captain price instructed. "After that you will storm down the stairs to position 2, then hit positions 3 and 4, following my precise instructions at each position." Looking down from an area raised above the platform, Soap could see a wooden reconstruction of the bridge of that night's cargoship, with several red arrows pointing him in the right direction.

"Grab the rope when you're ready." Soap wasted no time, He held the MP5 in his right hand and held onto the rope with his left. "GO GO GO!" yelled Captain Price, at that, Soap felt a sudden rush of energy, despite his fatigue, and he launched himself down the rope. He slammed onto the ground, and within a second he had ripped out his MP5 and was checking the area as he had been trained to do. Almost immediately four targets, identical to the terrorist ones from the range flipped up inside the bridge. "Hit the targets!" Barked Price, but Soap was already there; he quickly strafed around the outside of the semicircular room round to the right, hitting and taking out three of the targets through the windows. He then sprinted to the door with lightening speed, were he finished off the fourth target in a burst of gunfire. "Position 2! GO!" the captain directed, now through a loudspeaker just above the door to position 2 at the back. Soap arrived at the top of the stairs going down to the left, A target instantly appeared at the base of the stairs, but had it been a real terrorist , Soap would have beaten him to it; Soap let loose with the gun at his hip, seeing the terrorist to the ground in a nanosecond. He jolted from position 3 into the corridor on his left, to be confronted by another room ahead of him. "Flashbang through the door!" Soap ripped out a flashbang, lobbed it into position 4 and then rammed into the cover of the wall next to the door. Within a second, Soap was blinking spots out of his eyes, nonetheless he pressed on, dispatching the two targets that had appeared in the room. "Position 5!" He hurled himself into the next room on the left, were he took cover and blind fired at one of two targets that had gone up in the room after that, and then appeared at the door were he took out the next one. "Six, GO!" He sprinted into six and took cover from the open door ahead behind the wall to the left. "Flashbang in the door!" he repeated his actions from 4, remembering to close his eyes until he heard the explosion. When he did, he immediately got up and let lose a hail of gunfire in all directions, not caring were the targets were. luckily for him, the targets went down in a second. "Final position! GO!" Soap threw himself out the door, and immediately sprinted right, following the arrows. "Now sprint to the finish!" Too late, Soap was already finished. He stood still, took three deep breaths, and then headed over to the monitors.

Looking at his stopwatch, Captain price gave a casual nod. "21:45. Pretty good Soap. But I've seen better." Soap gave a deep sigh of relief, He'd had worse days. he came around to were the others were watching the screens, showing clips of him at each position. "Gentlemen the Cargoship operation is a go." Said the Captain, obviously addressing the whole squad now. "Get yourselves Sorted out. Wheels up at 02:00. Dismissed!"

And that was it.

Soap could tell this was going to be a_ very, very, _long night_._


	3. Chapter 2: Crew Expendable

well I hope you enjoyed the first couple of instalments, here is the third. I'm sorry for the wait between chapters but I'm afraid I've been quite busy recently. anyways, here it is:

Modern warfare: The Novelisation

Chapter 2: Crew expendable

"Bravo team, the intel on this op comes from our informant in Russia." Captain price bleared through the radio to his team. "The package is aboard a medium freighter, Estonian registration number 52775. there is a small crew and a security detail on board"

"Rules of engagement sir?" enquired Gaz

"Crew expendable." Price responded. With grim determination. . . .

. . .The merciless wind & rain assaulted Soap's cheeks like a hail of tiny bullets. Below them, the sea raged like a stressy teenager. He sat in the open chopper opposite Captain Price, who was smoking a fat glowing cigar. He breathed out a heavy cloud of smoke that would have gone in Soap's face were it not for the onslaught of the weather conditions. Soap tried to avoid eye contact with him. It made him feel uncomfortable.

_"this better be interesting, or I'm gonna be pissed!" _thought Soap.

"Baseplate this is Hammer two-four, we have visual on the target. E.T.A, sixty seconds." announced the Pilot's heavy American accent over the radio. "Copy two four" replied the mission comlink at control. The team had been briefed the following night on the nature of their mission: they were infiltrating a cargoship bound for northern Russia believed to have set off from North Korea two days prior. Captain Price's mysterious informant reported that the ship was supposedly carrying a nuclear warhead picked up in Korea that was set to be smuggled into Russia were it was to be covertly handed over to terrorists and sold to Russia's ultranationalist rebels. Their mission was to intercept the ship, and find and retrieve the warhead.

"Thirty seconds. Coming dark" Soap looked out to the right of the chopper, and the vast, hulking expanse of a ship came into view. Soap could see its main deck caked with containers, some of them spilled over with their contents scattered around the place. He saw all manner of foreign writing on the containers, on one of them it was Japanese or Korean, increasing the chances of the origin of their supposed bomb.

"Ten seconds." The sea raged harder now, causing the chopper to bounce dramatically. Soap looked out at the ship when he suddenly saw something glowing flung out of the window, he looked around and saw Captain Price, having flung away his cigar, was getting up and putting on his gasmask. Soap followed suit.

For a brief moment, a dramatic darkness crept in.

Then the goggles came into his line of sight and the world came back.

"lock and load!" said a now gasmasked Captain Price, slinging the rope down onto the deck of the ship. Soap prepared his gun. "Here goes" he muttered under his breath.

"Green light! GO GO GO!"

Captain Price led the way, private Griffin, another squadmate, followed the Captain, then Sergeant Carver, then lastly it was Soap's turn. Each man deployed himself onto the deck and took a window of the bridge. inside, five dark figures dropped what they were doing and began to stare at the four black-clad, gun-wielding figures

"Weapons free."

Soap took aim with his MP5.

Within seconds, the five men inside were dead and they were moving on round to the door.

"Bridge secure." reported the captain. "Hold your fire. Gaz, stay in the bird until we secure the deck. over."

"Roger that." Gaz responded. The four men surrounded the door, guns at the ready, Captain Price kicked it open with an angry grunt. Griffin took point, followed by Soap, flanked by Price and Carver, they spread into the room checking for any survivors.

"Squad on me!" ordered Price, heading for the stairs on the right heading down. The two men followed the Captain, to the stairs, where they checked for hostiles.

"Stairs, Clear! Soap Take point!" the Captain barked, Soap headed down to a doorway on the left. As he turned into the corridor he heard a miserable moaning noise. he turned to the left again to see a drunken crewman stumble out of a door at the far end of the hallway on the right. The poor man was a miserable sight, he stumbled around wildly, muttering indecipherable phrases in what sounded like Russian, and carried an obese bottle of whisky.

No remorse.

Soap snatched out his USP. 45, to save ammo in the event of a firefight, and dispatched the man with three shots to the chest. He slumped lazily to the floor with little noise but a drunken grunt.

"Last call." Joked Griffin.

"Hallway, Clear!" shouted Price.

Still brandishing his pistol, Soap turned into the room from where the man had just come. Inside he saw a three man bunk bed with two men dozing on the two bottom bunks. Soap took them out silently.

"Sweet dreams." remarked Griffin looking over Soap's shoulder, in a far more disturbingly evil and sinister tone than before.

The man clearly had a twisted, sick habit of making jokes about and at those killed at the hands of him and his squadmates. Soap was never keen on the idea of killing _a person_, but the knowledge that the alternative to killing in many cases may cost the lives of far more, mostly _innocent_ people, was what had made him a killer the past eighteen years.

"Crew quarters clear! Move up!"

"forward decks clear! Green light on Alpha! GO!" commanded the Pilot.

Soap moved down onto the cargo deck from the bridge down a flight of stairs, and was immediately soaked by a wave erupting onto the ship. Ignoring this aquatic assault, soap moved on, the rest of the squad on his tail. Soap took in his surroundings; they were surrounded by crates, however there was space to move along the ship between them, his military instincts told him that the rest crew _may _be alerted to their presence, and this was the ideal place for a setup. Soap replaced his pistol's vanguard position with his MP5.

"Ready sir" said Gaz who had joined them along with the rest of the squad.

"Fan out. Three meter spread!" directed price.

The men stealthily sifted through the mess of crates, alert and ready. The attack of the weather and violent rocking of the ship doing nothing to deter them. They came under a large observation platform and proceeded through the crates, they soon came in view of another platform, this one with two men minimalisticly and lazily patrolling along the top. Soap judged by their lack of alertness that they still were unaware of the men's presence.

"Got two on the platform." whispered gaz.

"I see 'em, weapons free!" answered Price.

"Roger that."

They all decided at once that it would be impossible to pick them off at this range without advertising themselves; they moved into a clearing of the crates for a better shot. Now it was the others' turn; soap had time for one shot before the guards were down, which he missed, and they continued moving along the cargo deck.

"Target down."

The others moved along in dead silence, Soap followed Price into an empty container, though still adhering to the three meter spread. The ensuing darkness caused their black kits to blend in, meaning soap lost sight of the captain for a moment. However, within a second he could see him ducking behind a tarpaulin crate in front of the container. Soap was about to join him when Suddenly something slammed into his chest and forced him down onto his back. He was too confused at first to tell what was happening, but having been knocked down by the impact, Soap realised he had been shot. It was disorientating and vision blurring before the pain came, but when it did, he felt like he had been punched by God.

Clutching his chest tightly, he aggressively grunted in pain.

"AGGGHH, SHIT!"

"Get your act together!" Snapped the Captain, grabbing him by the collar of his vest and hauling him behind the crate with him.

" And get used to it!"

"We got company!" said one of the team.

_"no shit!" _Soap wanted to say.

breathing heavily Soap checked himself to find three bullets embedded in his Flak jacket, they hadn't penetrated his sternum. He was fine. He managed to pry one out leaving a steaming and deep hole in his vest, he realised that a bullet of this size and calibre, could only come from an LMG, he was lucky to not be hurt. He had been shot a few times in his years of service, and Soap remembered that these hadn't been from a mounted light machine gun, thus hurting a motherload of a lot less than this, and being far less dangerous. Thus he had gone nearly unscathed in most instances, and by an extraordinary stroke of luck, now also.

Gritting his teeth harder that he thought he could do, soap took in the situation: the rest of the squad was taking cover behind the crates, also taking heavy fire, the rattling of machine gun and the shouts of men echoed around him, indicating that they had been compromised, _not_ that the fact he had just been shot wasn't enough already. They had neared the end of the cargo deck, and were now just below the forecastle. Soap quickly peeked out and saw the deck above them swarming with hostiles, as well as two mounted light machine guns the closer of which, Soap presumed, had shot him.

Captain Price clicked on his radio and spoke, "Hammer two-four, we got Tangos on the second deck!"

"Copy. engaging!"

Soap looked up to see the chopper hover in front of the second deck. It suddenly released forth a broadside of gunfire into the long corridor killing everyone inside. Soap had always loved it when there was air support to do the job for you.

They emerged from their cover and proceeded up onto a small platform that served as the base of the forecastle.

"Bravo team, Hammer is at bingo fuel" reported hammer "we're buggin' out. Big Bird will be on station for evac in ten."

"Copy Hammer." said Price "Walcroft, Griffin, cover our six. The rest of you, on me."

"Roger that."

They cautiously approached the structure around to their left, following the captain, were a watertight door awaited them. Soap stacked up to the wall on the door's left, the Captain stood opposite him, brandishing his M4 suppressed in the door's face. Gaz and Sgt Carver both stood in front of the door, Guns facing inward. The others stood behind keeping watch.

"I like to keep this for close encounters" Said Gaz suddenly, Soap looked and saw him replacing his MP5 with an impressive shotgun.

"Too right mate." replied Carver.

Price approached the door, and twisted the crank slowly.

"On my mark. . GO!"

He ripped open the door.

Immediately, Gaz and Carver were inside. They stacked up on the wall in front of them peering down the corridor for hostiles. Soap followed suit. and price was first into the corridor. It was Empty.

"Hallway, Clear! Move up!"

They quietly fell into the corridor, one by one. Remaining alert in case there was an ambush. The sounds of the sea resonated around them. Up ahead there was an opening to another corridor. At the end of the corridor they were in, there were more doors that lead outside to the opposite side of the ship. They moved to the hallway on the left repeated the previous procedure of stack up, check for tangos, and get ready to move in, all this was simple SAS procedure.

"Clear left."

"Clear right."

They fell in. Price took point. Soap took in their surroundings, at the end of the corridor was another door to the outside and to the right was a raised platform with some access doors for engineers. the Only option was a stairway going down to the left. Perfect, they had to get as deep into the ship as possible before running into an enemy contact. The captain brought his gun to bear at the top of the stairs, aiming down.

"Stairs, Clear!"

The men fell in and followed him down into the ship, they came into a long room, they were surrounded by pipes wired across the ceiling and walls like weeds, with a huge fat one running through the centre of the room lengthways. A walkway went along the length of the room before turning a sharp right and then back around in the direction they had come from, only going into a corridor leading deeper into the ship. They calmly and quietly followed Price along the walkway, when suddenly they heard angry voices to the right from the corridor and they saw shadows being cast of guards taking up positions, ready for the oncoming threat.

"Movement right."

Soap ducked low and worked his way to the end of the pipe were he took cover. He had time for one quick peek around the corner to his right; he registered three guards with AK47s stacking up in the corridor, just down a small flight of stairs. He had to think fast. The guards opened fire on his position. He pulled out his sidearm with his left hand and quickly reaching around the corner he blind-fired a few Double-Taps down the corridor. A muffled scream and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor confirmed his attempt. But then, more unexpectedly, he heard a thick rushing hiss, followed by more cries of pain and a cease in the gunfire, which could only mean he had hit one of the steam pipes.

Soap and the others hopped out from cover and surveyed the situation; one man was dead, another was sprawling around on the floor trying to avoid the rush of white hot steam that had taken them by surprise while at the same time groping around for his dropped gun, his comrade was stumbling onto his feet and preparing to leg it down the corridor. Their skills and training allowed them to assess the situation in under a second; they decided that the man reaching for the gun was more of a potential threat and they took him out first. The runner was soon to follow, a few shots dispatched his leg, and as he tried to crawl away, a few more dispatched his life. Soap reloaded his gun.

"Tango down."

"Hallway, Clear!"

They proceeded down the corridor, careful to avoid the steam, where they quickly checked the bodies in case of a trap. No pulses.

At the end of the corridor there was another, going left and right like a T-junction. Soap knelt down and peered out to the right. Ironically, he was met face to face with a dead-end wall a few meters away.

"_Clear right_." He declared. A hint of irony in his voice

"Clear left." replied Sgt. Carver.

"Move up. Carver, take point" ordered price.

They followed Carver to the left, guns at the ready, and unsure what to expect next. the hallway was lined with pipes like the last, and clear the end a red light left an ominous glow that looked uninviting. Next to it was a watertight door. This one was open, and was presumably were the guards had come from. They swiftly confronted the door and stacked up, Carver in front on the wall next to the door, Gaz was behind him, with Soap next to Gaz. Captain price stood ready, directly in front of the door.

"Standby, on my go!" he warned.

As he said this Carver Reached his Head around the corner. however within a second of looking, he was put back in his place by a flurry of gunfire that assaulted the doorway. He decided to repay this attempt by the guards to turn his head into Swiss Cheese. He unhooked a Flash from the clips on his Blacksuit.

"Flashbang out!" he Declared dramatically, while back-handedly popping the device into the room beyond. Within a second, a flash that would have been blinding -were it not for their position outside the room, flash-proof lenses on their gasmasks, and constant exposure to flashbangs due to their counter-terrorist training that made them practically immune to the effects- sprang forth in the room, accompanied by the traditional loud bang, that would lead people to question the reliability of flashbangs were it not present.

"GO!"

They fell in. The room was a large freight hall, and the door had lead onto a catwalk at the top of the left-side wall. As well as crates, Guards littered the floor, lowering their guns and clutching their eyes as they attempted to find their way around having been "flashbanged". They descended down the stairs to the cargo deck, taking out the guards along the way.

"Tango down."

They didn't let their guard down. Soap aimed his MP5 in front of him until they reached the other side of the hall. He scanned the environment: squad back, wall front, crates right, crates left. He noticed a gap between the wall and the crates on the left and headed for it. Suddenly as he emerged, a figure charged towards him, yelling his head off, his gun held high ready to deliver the killing blow. Soap reacted immediately; with both hands he grabbed the gun, and then drove his knee upward deep into the man's groin. The guard gave an aggressive but awkward squeal and dropped the gun from his loose hands. Taking him by the neck with one hand, by his jacket with the other, he drove him back into the crate behind him with fantastic force. he slumped to the ground like a ragdoll.

"Nice work there soap." remarked Gaz.

Soap had taken several courses in unarmed combat, self defence, and martial arts throughout his time as a soldier: he was a fifth degree blackbelt at Judo, and a qualified instructor of military self-defence. It had saved his life more times than he could count.

"Gaz, right side!" ordered Price.

"I'm on it."

he ran across to the other side of the hall, a few meters away from him there was a watertight door. Gaz looked around slowly.

"No tangos in sight."

the others came across to join him.

"Stack up"

They fell in towards the door, pressing themselves hard against the wall, ready and waiting.

Captain Price twisted the crank on the door "GO!"

Gaz and Carver went straight in. Followed by Soap. They stood on a small catwalk just above the floor of the container hall, in front, a container completely blocked their view of the hall, on the right, more container. To the left a stairway led up onto the catwalk along the top of the hall.

"Move!"

Soap followed the others up the stairway, looking up he saw Gaz suddenly jerk his head in the direction of the catwalk opposite.

"Movement right!"

Soap spun around while still backing up the stairs. Across the hall on the other side, he saw guards spilling onto the catwalk, pointing at them and gibbering random commands in some language to one another. They opened fire, and amid the resounding sound of bullets clanging on metal, Bravo team returned it.

They gently strafed one by one across the platform, double tapping their fire toward the enemy. Soap followed suit, dispatching two of the guards, one was taken aback by the force of the bullets into his chest, and collapsed back off the catwalk. The other had his leg taken out and he threw himself on the floor crying out in agony. Soap then had the favour returned; he grunted and recoiled suddenly as a collection of bullets out of nowhere caught him on the shoulder. Nonetheless he pushed on, his body armour vest suffered the damage rather than him, and the pain was minimal compared to the LMG earlier. Besides when you qualify as one of the toughest people on the planet, pain is one of the last things on your mind, except in the case of a gun like an LMG _of course_.

They pressed through the haze of gunfire until the guards were taken care of. They moved down off the catwalk, Captain Price dispatched one last guard lurking behind a crate.

"Forward area clear."

"Move!"

Having recovered from being shot twice now, Soap remembered an old saying by Churchill: _"There is little more exhilarating in life than to be shot without result". _Soap knew little about Churchill, but he assumed he had never experienced the various anticlimaxes and ironies of being a soldier. Only a matter of days ago, an exhausted John _(yet to be named "Soap") _Mactavish, having just passed SAS selection, was led into a room, had the sand-coloured SAS beret, the regimental badge, and a meagre, unenthusiastic "well done", shoved in his face, and then was marched out again. Bewildered and pissed off as the next man.

"Clear left."

"Stack up!"

The next door awaited them, this one open. Inside, Soap could see the guards preparing for the oncoming assault. They stacked up.

"One ready."

"Two ready."

"Three ready."

"Flashbang!"

Price popped the small object through the door. A moment later, light and sound erupted from inside, coupled with the sound of random gunfire.

"GO!"

This time, there was teamwork. They fell in, and knelt behind the first row of crates. Carver, being the one at the front, lent round the corner and delivered a burst of fire.

"Targets neutralised."

"Move up!"

Soap moved in behind a container to the right, Gaz and price ducked behind the next row of crates. The room erupted in gunfire. Soap looked across to the other side of the hall, a guard had appeared and had his AK-47 trained on Gaz's head. He aimed back, and shot him just at the base of his left ribcage. He dropped his gun and stumbled backwards, clutching his torso. He then collapsed to the ground, dead. He peered around the corner, there was a guard kneeling between the crates, fumbling around for another magazine to reload his gun. Another was cowering by the crates. Soap spun round bringing his MP5 to bear, and catching the first guard by surprise, he flew onto his back, and his gun slid across the metal floor. The other guard tried to make a run for the next row of crates. No chance; Soap saw his eyes roll back into their sockets as the bullet entered his head. Soap quickly joined the others behind the crates.

"Report?" said Price.

"I make it three or four tangos at six O'clock " said Gaz, reloading his shotgun. He and Soap knelt up over the crates and returned fire. Soap luckily managed to align his sights at the right time, and topped one of the guards through the head. They got back down behind the crates. The next time wasn't so lucky ; he managed to fire a few random shots in their direction. The next time was even worse; he barely managed to aim his gun before the guards almost took his head off. He Squatted hopelessly behind the crates for a moment. The others continuously returning fire, with no result.

_"Fuck it!" _he thought. He unhooked a frag grenade from his clips.

"Frag out!" he called. unhooking the pin, he popped the object round the side of the crates.

For a moment, the firing seemed quieter. Then suddenly, he heard a guard yell something that resembled "grenade". Then it went off. Frag and flame flew out in all directions, accompanied by screams, Then it settled. and the firing ceased.

They got up and surveyed the area.

"Report- All clear?" said Cpt. Price.

"Roger that."

They crept across to the other side of the hall, through the crates. Soap was so preoccupied with taking out the guards he had forgot all about their objective of finding the bomb. He realised how long it had taken, but they were deep inside the vessel by now, they couldn't be far. But that thought brought up another: how did Price know how to find the bomb?

The simple clicking of a Geiger counter answered that Question.

"I'm getting a strong reading sir." said Gaz.

For roughly half a minute, they played a game of "Warm & Cold" with Gaz's Geiger counter, until finally it led them to a container at the end of the hall.

"Ah, that's it," said Gaz "you might wanna take a look at this."

he yanked open the container.

"Bloody hell!" said Carver

a large metal object, about the length of a small car rested inside. There was a bomb alright. Soap guessed this had the potential to take out a small city.

But something was wrong. They had been expecting the device to be Korean. Evidently not; the writing on the hazard sign wasn't Asian, it was middle-eastern. Draped over the object was a large red flag, it showed two black scimitars crossing over, with a black star in the middle. Soap recognised it, it had been in the news recently, something about a big military coup going on in a country in the Arabian peninsula. But Cpt. Price had never said anything about that in relation to the mission.

"Hmm, it's in Arabic?" said Price in a puzzled voice. "Baseplate This is bravo six- We've found it. Ready to secure package for transport."

"No time bravo six" replied Baseplate, "two bogies headed your way fast. grab what you can and get the hell outta there!"

"Fast movers" said Gaz " probably MiGs, we better go!"

"Soap" snapped price, "Grab the manifest in the container. Move!"

Soap slipped inside the container. Several objects were rested on top of the bomb: two bottles of what was probably some form of coolant liquid sat next to a pile of black ringbinders, on top of them was a clipboard in a watertight container with various documents attached. Soap knew they could only take so much. He retrieved the clipboard and left the rest inside.

He handed the dossier to Price who clipped it onto his belt at the back.

"Alright everyone topside double time!" he ordered urgently.

they briskly retraced their steps through the crates and into the previous hall. As they came through, price spoke into his radio.

"Walcroft, Griffin, what's your status? over."

"Already in the helicopter sir." replied Walcroft " Enemy aircraft inboun- SHIT! THEY'VE OPENED FIRE"

Suddenly, all hell broke loose.

Light filled the hall as a huge explosion erupted ahead of them out of the side of the ship. The shockwave threw them backwards onto the cold metal floor, winding Soap. Ahead of him he heard the radio gargle and drown away. The shockwave had disorientated him and he lost his sense of direction. Gaz sprawled about the floor next to him, Price and Carver in front. He fumbled around and tried to regain his balance. Looking up to the ceiling, he heard Big bird's pilot talk in panic into the radio.

"Bravo six! Come in! Bravo six, what's your Status?"

Ahead of Soap, Carver crawled up on all fours.

"SHIT! WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?" He yelled.

Still on the floor trying to re-co-ordinate himself Soap saw Price prop himself up.

"The ship's sinking! We've Got to Go! NOW!" Barked Gaz.

Soap suddenly realised, He was lying in a foot of water. He groped around for his MP5, but couldn't find it.

"Bravo Six! come in Damnit!"

"Big Bird This is Bravo Six- We're on our way out!" Replied Price, scrambling to his feet.

Soap lay in a propped up position and gestured for price to give him a hand up, he was still dizzy from the shock.

Instead, the captain grabbed his flak jacket, And with an aggressive tug hauled him onto his feet as if he were a ragdoll.

"On your feet Soldier! We _are leaving!" _He barked explicitly into Soap's face.

For a moment, Soap just stood there stunned. But within a second he had snapped back into it and was following the others back the way they came.

The scene was chaos. The ship was slanted at an angle, Crates and containers had been disrupted and littered the hall, and a torrent of water Gushed out of the breech in the ship's hull like blood from a severed artery.

"Get to that catwalk! Move, Move, Move!"

Soap sprinted up the stairs, Fuelled by raging adrenaline. He followed the others up onto the catwalk. all around them was the sound of rushing Water and the ominous creaks and moans of the ship as it collapsed and sank.

"Come on! let's Go, Lets' Go" shouted Gaz.

The squad sprinted along about three meters ahead of Soap. Just In front of Price's head, a metal panel in the side of the ship broke away and a flush of water came rushing through the hole. The force knocked them down.

"BACK ON YOUR FEET! LET'S GO!"

Soap scrambled after them, tugging himself through the water that fell through. They almost reached the end of the hall. Suddenly, three huge metal panels fell through ahead of them, crashing down onto the catwalk.

"WATCH YER' HEAD!" cried out Gaz.

The destruction got worse. They had barely made it into the second hallway when more panels broke away and a much bigger torrent of water gushed in, the force knocking them all to their knees. Soap pressed on, dodging underneath the water. He sprinted on to catch up with the squad, when suddenly he felt the catwalk shudder violently beneath his feet.

"IT'S BREAKING AWAY!" yelped Carver.

The walkway buckled, and peeled away from the end segment where the others just about escaped through the doorway. As it broke off down into the flooded freight hall below, Soap Sprinted for his life and jumped off the edge of the catwalk. He just managed to grab hold of the railings of the still intact end of the walkway and haul himself up onto it.

He Stumbled back into the corridor. Ahead of him to the left, he saw the others turn right into the steam corridor where they had previously fought the guards. Water and steam spewed out around them as the pipes collapsed and emptied their contents.

"Watch the Pipes !" warned Price.

Soap sprinted after them down the twists and turns of the corridors, running at every which angle as the ship tilted over. Water crashed and erupted from every nook and cranny all around them.

"Talk to me bravo six!" requested the pilot "where the hell are you?"

"Standby! we're almost there!"

He followed them up the stairs, They _were_ almost there.

up ahead he saw Gaz stop abruptly.

"WHICH WAY?!" he yelled out "Which way to the helicopter?!"

"Right!" answered Price "To the right!"

Soap heaved through a waterfall from the ceiling, following them to the right.

_"come on!"_ he thought _"not much further now!"_

They raced down the corridor. Ahead of them, Soap could clearly see the door they had come through to the outside of the ship. He stumbled outside after the others, and turned right. To the left, the sea raged on. To the right, the vast hulk of the ship loomed over him.

Ahead to the left was the deck of the ship. He was nearly there.

With no time to loose, he ran up across the slanted deck, slipping a few times. The ship was at a 30 degree angle now. He trudged up the flat deck as hard as he could.

"keep moving!"

"WERE THE HELL IS THE CHOPPER?" cried out Carver.

Suddenly, the Chinook appeared out of nowhere. The hatch was open towards the ship.

A matter of meters in front, Soap could clearly see his objective. The others clambered aboard The chopper. But he was running out of time, the heli was already heading away. He reached the end of the ship, and clambered onto the edge but the helicopter was too far from the edge for him to get on.

suddenly he knew what to do.

With all the Strength his body could summon, he propelled himself off the edge of the ship.

"JUMP FOR IT!" yelled out a voice one of the team.

For a moment, With Soap suspended in space, time seemed to stop.

Then suddenly, it was all over.

Soap hung off the edge of the ramp, paralysed, unable to do anything.

Suddenly he felt himself slipping off the chopper back towards the inky black abyss.

In desperation, he frantically clawed at the floor of the cabin. He felt himself slowly falling away, when all of a sudden, he felt a firm hand grabbing him by the collar.

"Gotcha!" grunted Captain Price as Soap stared into his face in shock.

Price hoisted him up into the chopper, and threw him onto his back. Soap looked up, below them, the vast hulk of the ship declined away into the void of the sea. He couldn't believe it, He was alive.

"we're all aboard! Go!" ordered Price.

"Roger that, we're outta here." Responded the Pilot.

Soap was petrified. He hoped this night would have seen the worst of his career, in vain. . .

Things were about to Get a lot worse. . .


End file.
